


Gravity's A Bitch

by Anonymous



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-22 23:47:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3747628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Yancy wants that feeling back – of being reckless and youthful, of just acting and hell-damning the consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gravity's A Bitch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dellessa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dellessa/gifts).



> I apologise for writing you what is essentially a sequel, but this is the only Chuck/Yancy bunny I have in my head. Sequel to [Acceptable Apologies](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1065409)

All the way back in the taxi, Yancy is aware of Chuck’s hand resting on the seat beside him.

Not inching over. Not reaching out. Just resting.

It makes him a little dizzy if he lets himself think about what he’s doing, about where they’re going. Or maybe that’s just the whiskey the barman poured out for him towards the end of the night with a gruff, “ _On the house, with thanks, Ranger_.”

Yancy knows better than to mix his drinks since Knifehead.

He also knows better than to get mixed up with Chuck after the PPDC dinner last month.

And yet here he is, sitting in a taxi, going home with the world’s most eligible bachelor, who’s looking casual and easy – as though he takes former Jaeger pilots home with him all the time.

He looks out the window at the sharp lights of Hong Kong proper. Now that they’re out of the Exclusion Zone, the light seems muted, almost bleak.

Rather the way Yancy’s been feeling lately.

“Oi.” Chuck Hansen never – almost never – looks less than belligerent. Sitting in the shadowy back of a taxi with the street lights outlining his features is no exception. The young, arrogant gaze studies him, amused. “Not gonna chicken out on me, are you?”

He makes himself appear nonchalant and composed and casual as he shifts his hips, drawing Chuck’s gaze briefly down. “I won’t if you don’t.”

Yancy pitches his voice low – the voice he uses in seduction, and which works equally well on men or women. And the defiance drains out of Chuck like water through a sieve – a subtle shift in posture, the twitch of his body as he tenses, a hungry shadow flitting across his expression.

Yet the belligerence remains.

_Private punishment, not public humiliation..._

He grins at the memory of Chuck half-dressed and erect, of hot flesh swollen and hard under Yancy’s hands, and the gush of Chuck’s semen in Yancy’s mouth.

And Chuck reciprocated with Yancy’s dick in his mouth, hot and wet and tender as he licked and sucked and stroked and swallowed...

Yancy’s dreamed of that night more than a few times in the last month.

He’s pretty sure Chuck has, too.

They arrive at the apartment building, and Chuck pays the driver while Yancy eases himself out. His leg aches a little, muscles twinging to remind him that he’s been pushing too hard lately and that he needs to ease back.

Chuck slams the taxi door behind him with a, “Thanks, mate,” to the driver. He surveys Yancy as the taxi zooms off, a look that’s all bravado and balls, then jerks his head in the direction of the big wooden double doors of the apartment building. “Well, come along.”

It’s an older building – the front doors are wooden and heavy and move on some kind of mechanism. Glass doors aren’t such a thing anymore – they break too easily during a kaiju attack, and are too difficult to replace, and steel was prioritised for the shelters. The old, carved wood feels solid, though – and kind of ominous with the sinuous old designs like cracked enamel. Chuck doesn’t give them a second glance as he activates the mechanism to open them, and swaggers through.

Young, famous, and immortal. Yancy remembers what that felt like – back in the days when he, too, was a Jaeger pilot – co-pilot of Gipsy Danger with Raleigh.

He’s older, now. Older and wiser. _Mature_.

But sometimes...sometimes Yancy wants that feeling back – of being reckless and youthful, of just acting and hell-damning the consequences.

So when they get into the elevator, Yancy steps into Chuck’s space, not quite chest to chest, but definitely crowding him. They’re almost the same height, although Chuck is a little taller and a little heavier, bulky with the hard muscle required of an active Jaeger pilot, stiff with the pride and ego of the young.

“Pushy bastard, aren’t you?”

Yancy smiles at the hungry rush of words that spill out of Chuck. “I can be when it’s needed.”

“And you think I need pushing around?”

“I think you like being told what to do,” Yancy says, pitching his voice low as he brushes his fingers down the front of Chuck’s jacket.

“Hah.” The sneer is defiant – and a lie. “You wish!”

Yancy tilts his head. “I don’t have to wish, Chuck. I know. Because your pulse is hammering in your throat, and your gut is clenched like a fist, and you’re practically _straining_ at the zip down here...” His fingertips skim the front of Chuck’s jeans, and a noise like a stifled moan escapes Chuck’s mouth.

The elevator doors slide open behind Yancy, but he doesn’t look around to see if there are people coming in or if they’re at their floor. His focus is entirely on Chuck.

Does Chuck know that his lashes have lowered, his gaze dropped before Yancy, his lips parted? Does he know that his hands are clenched, but that he’s holding himself rigidly still? Does he realise that, for all his hunger, all his bravado, he’s _waiting_ for Yancy to touch him, to kiss him, to take him?

“So, do we get off here?” Yancy asks when Chuck doesn’t move, letting the double entendre rest in his mouth.

Chuck looks dazed, before he manages. “What? Yes. This is— Fuck!”

Yancy laughs as Chuck jabs at the buttons and the elevator doors slide open again. The other man stalks out into the corridor and Yancy follows, smiling. Perhaps it’s not particularly nice of him to tease, but he does like it – especially when Chuck gives such an enjoyable response.

Chuck’s just typing in the unlock code for the apartment when Yancy catches up with him. He doesn’t quite jump as Yancy strokes a hand up his spine, but there’s definitely a sudden tension when Yancy presses up against him, one hand at Chuck’s nape.

“Like a kitten,” he murmurs.

“You calling me a pussy?” But the growl is hoarse, desire overriding the protest.

“Tonight,” Yancy tells him, “I’m going to make you _purr_ , Chuck.”

The muscles under Yancy’s hand quiver before Chuck turns and fists his hands in Yancy’s shirt, yanking him in. Hot desire mingles with fierce demand as lips part and mouths meet, mate, and meld in what is at once both a ferocious battle and a prostrate submission.

Yancy resettles one hand around Chuck’s nape, angling his mouth for better access. The other grips Chuck’s hip so Yancy can line them up, hip to hip, for a thrust that both teases and promises. And grins against Chuck’s mouth when the young man grunts, or maybe squeaks.

The grin turns into an open laugh as Chuck shoves the door open with his foot and backs into the hallway of the darkened apartment, dragging Yancy with him in his eagerness.

“Easy there, tiger,” he starts to say, before Chuck pushes him up against the back of the door and kisses him again – hard.

Yancy sets his shoulderblades against the cool wood of the door and lets the younger man demand his mouth, his response. All that passion has to go somewhere, all that pent-up frustration pouring off the ruddy skin needs an outlet, and Yancy full intends to revel in Chuck’s desperate need – and satisfy his own while he’s at it.

He’s been wanting this for weeks, watching Chuck Hansen strut and saunter his way across the global stage – single and available and the hottest bit of human property on the planet since Raleigh and Mako have no eyes for anyone but each other. And sure, Yancy comes in for a bit of the spotlight, but he’s older now, and wiser. He doesn’t want to be in the circus ring any more than Chuck’s dad does.

But Chuck – Chuck’s lapping it up, with all the swagger of youth and all the defiance of his nature. And, yeah, Yancy’s been careful not to show his hand before tonight – the PPDC dinner with bonus blowjob was an aberration – but it’s been hard. In several senses.

It takes him a moment to realise that Chuck’s kissing his way down Yancy’s throat, and one hand comes up to ruffle through the hair that’s gingery by light, but only soft in the darkness.

Chuck tenses and the kisses stop. Before Yancy can ask what’s wrong, Chuck lifts his head. “Get this straight,” he snarls, “I’m not your pet _anything_!”

“You’re taking things too personally,” Yancy counters, and runs a finger down the lean cheek. “It was just a caress.”

Yancy can’t see the expression that flits across Chuck’s face – not properly, not in the shadows – but he hears the huff before Chuck goes back to nipping at Yancy’s neck, his fingers unbuttoning Yancy’s shirt before finding the button of Yancy’s jeans and cupping him through constricting denim.

Then Chuck starts working his way south – collarbones, breastbone, belly; lips, tongue, and teeth. And Yancy bites back a moan as rough hands ease him out of his boxers.

“Easy there, tiger,” Chuck mocks, his mouth too close and not quite close enough as he runs his hand the length of Yancy’s dick, stroking the glans beneath the foreskin in a teasing little circle that has blood thundering in Yancy’s ears. “It’s just a caress…”

‘Just’.

“I want your tongue there,” Yancy tells him, low and rough. “Stroking my head.”

“And you’re gonna stroke mine in return?”

He brushes his hand over the faint gleam in the shadows. “Will you purr for me?” Then he yelps as Chuck’s mouth takes him hard, firm lips wrapping about his shaft, tongue laving the tip while Yancy groans and writhes and struggles not to thrust deep into that smart mouth, although he wants to.

Minutes pass, maybe hours, with Chuck sucking, licking, lipping his dick, working Yancy with his mouth and tongue, while his hands make sensitive work of Yancy’s shaft and balls. A wet and rolling rhythm that sets the pace for Yancy’s pulse – a tide of wet and deep and suck and ache—

Chuck lunges forward, and Yancy nearly sobs as his dick slides deep into welcoming wetness. _Fuck fuck fuck_ — There’s teeth and tongue and throat close around him—so hot, so deep— Chuck makes this noise of satisfaction in his throat—like a purr— Yancy twitches once, twice, three times—

He thrusts once before he comes, spilling himself deep in Chuck’s throat—and, yeah, Chuck is purring as he sucks Yancy dry, wet-lipping his way back off Yancy’s dick, warm and willing and oddly tender.

Yancy gets his hand through Chuck’s hair once before his legs give out, and he slides down the door.

And Chuck laughs and licks a damp stripe up Yancy’s belly and chest, all the way up to his earlobe, where he takes a little nip. “Now who’s purring?”

He manages to turn his head, to get his lips around Chuck’s earlobe and suck, slow and rhythmic. And the shiver in the big, brawny body holds the promise of everything Yancy wants to do to Chuck Hansen.

Later, after he's gotten his breath back.


End file.
